Yes, But No

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Jon Stewart poked fun at Chris Cuomo for the mis-statement of “Sarah Palin’s” new book, Going Rogue. Johnny Wright at Yesbutnobutyes includes the clip and makes sarcastic comments at Chris’ expense, stating that Chris can’t read. Frankly, I’m not above poking some fun at Chris. I’ve rolled my eyes at his performance on GMA myself. But in this case, I must paraphrase Ellen Ripley when I say, “Get away from him, you bitches!”
Jon Stewart failed to show the whole clip, and Johnny Wright clearly didn’t care to do any actual fact-checking. As I worship at Chris’ feet every morning, I saw this gaff with my own two adoring eyes when it happened. And Chris immediately (and understandably defensively) showed his copy to Diane Sawyer who CONFIRMED that Chris read his copy as it was written! The gaff was the script writer’s, not the drop-dead gorgeous hunk of a man news reader who graduated from Yale! He didn’t “try to read the word rogue.” He correctly read the word “rouge.”
Now I must pick Johnny Wright up in my mechanical dock loader and blow his ass out the airlock (just like Ellen Ripley did to the wretched Alien at the end of Aliens).

I’ve got your back, Chris.

Nerd Lust

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Nerds frequently do it for me. Not all nerds, not all the time. But frequently. Squarehippies has a nice running feature on dorks, as in “Adorkable,” but I’m drawing a fine distinction here in saying 1) not all nerds are dorks, and 2) Squarehippies’ inclusion of Ryan Reynolds as a dork tells me that we must be talking about very, very different things.

I recently threw Christopher Gorham into a wrestling ring in my gay wrestling fiction. He’s a fantastically hot nerd who brought some surprisingly hot moves and attitude into his battle with Jerry O’Connell. The skinny nerd with glasses who can rip open his shirt and reveal an entirely lickable chest is guaranteed a recurring role in my imagination.
While I haven’t written this match up yet, I’m entranced by the tasty, nerdy combination of Elijah Wood and Daniel Radcliffe. Now that Daniel is 20 years old, my socially appropriate restraint in identifying him as an object of lust is officially unrestrained. Together with Elijah, they’re both gorgeously short, skinny, self-conscious nerds (have you seen either of them in an interview!?) who I’d like to see in a sincere throw down turned body worship.
Zachary Levi is borderline nerd, but worth the mention. He plays nerd nicely, but I suspect if you scratch the surface, you’d find a cocky face with more than a healthy self-esteem. I think that writing him into a wrestling match would offer an opportunity to see Zach’s true nature come out, and between you and me, I strongly suspect that nature could include some over confidence in need of a healthy dose of suffering.
Kal Penn is nearly too hip to be a nerd, but I include him anyway. He’s too busy helping the Obama administration undo a little of the damage done to the world from the previous administration, so I’m not expecting him to show up in a wrestling match anytime soon. But he’s clearly smart and sexy, and that’ll get you at least halfway to full on certification as a nerd with the key to my heart (and crotch).
Finally, this shot of Nicholas Lemons makes me just a little dizzy (in a good way). The nerd glasses on the hardbody with ink is so completely hot. Nicholas hardly qualifies as a nerd, but this particular look makes me feel just a little faint. It could be the cold I’m still recovering from, but I think it’s the hotness of Nicholas channeling his (very) inner nerd that’s rearranging my blood flow.

A Second Glance

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Have you ever instantly fallen in lust with the hot stud leaning against the wall across the bar, only to discover on closer inspection that he’s not really all that? Back in the day before video streaming (I feel like Grandpa talking about serials on the radio), all we had to decide what gay wrestling videos we wanted to purchase were stills. I’d see some pics of exactly “my type,” (whatever the hell that is), and like Pavlov’s dog I’d pull out my… credit card and send off for a tape in order to possess the handsome stud. Of course, they typically package these tapes as collections, and usually I’d be in lust with only two or three of the wrestlers. Then when the desperately anticipated moment arrived, I’d rip open the envelope, sprint to the TV, and pop in the tape.

Not infrequently, though, those objects of my lust turned out to not turn my crank so much. In my first BG East purchase, Troy Milan, who I was ready to swoon over, was actually a little annoying when you added audio and saw him actually move on the mats. He was way too much go-go and not enough throw down.
Then out of no where, Joe Mazetti blew my mind. I never would have picked Joe out of a crowd of hunky men as the one who would make me sweat. But seeing his sadistic sneer, particularly with the audio on, and I was surprised by lust!
Chip Slater did the same thing to me. The profoundly cleft chin is, I admit, a turn on for me. But otherwise I was not expecting Chip to send me over the moon. But he’s a freaking god on the mats! He twists his opponents into pretzels and laughs at them. He absolutely can’t help himself from torturing his opponents’ balls, and he himself appears to have balls of steel.
Soon after discovering Can-Am online, I thought I was entranced by bodybuilder Paul Perris. Oddly, when I actually brought him home, his doing the splits didn’t send me over the moon the way I thought it would. On the other hand, Troy Lucas completely took me by surprise. In motion, in the grasp of sadistic Johnny Lightening (who missed a spot shaving his ass), Troy rushed to the front of the line of my favorites on Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3.
One final example: I thought I was purchasing Fantasy Pro Wrestling primarily to ogle the mysteriously, concisely named “Matthews” (sort of like Cher: he’s so hot he only needs one name).
But popping it in, I quickly discovered that Matthews was not the apple of my eye (and he may only need one name because that’s as much as he can remember). I was glad that Hector Alvarez beat his ass for disappointing me like that. On the other hand, Buck Wyld turned out to be worth every penny. It’s not that Matthews doesn’t have all the right parts in the right proportion. He just doesn’t move as sexy as a hot man can move (and he’s creepily quiet). Buck, on the other hand…
Anyway, like falling in love with the B-Side, I appreciate the unexpected gems that catch me by surprise in the collection tapes. It’s a nice lesson to remember to be open to having your assumptions challenged. Sometimes the hot guys posing across the bar aren’t the sexiest ones in the room, even if they might catch your eye first. When it comes to homoerotic wrestling products, between the boys who disappoint and the boys who pleasantly surprise, all in all I generally come out on top. And on those rare occasions when I’m left with a hollow, unsatiated feeling, if it’s a BG East product I’ll at least get to enjoy the trailers (I’m a BIG fan of the trailers).

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me the News

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I’m sick. The symptoms aren’t flu-y, swine or otherwise. They’re just cold-y. Still, it’s knocked my legs out from under me. What’s worse, I fully admit that I’m intolerable when I’m sick. I’m impatient, demanding, self-pitying… it’s not pretty. If I’m miserable, someone else should be miserable as well – that’s my thinking. So for today, my blog entry is my list of who I think ought to be taking care of my in my misery:

The boys from “Seattle” Grace Hospital can fetch for me. Neither of them are allowed to talk, and no one is allowed to use the prefix “Mc-” for anything. Eric Dane must be dressed only in a towel. And did I mention Patrick Dempsey is not allowed to talk? “Dr. Eric, Dr. Patrick, get me some tomato soup!“
The Bachelor-turned-one-of-The Doctors, Travis Stork, can take my temperature. He, however, must wear a stethoscope around his neck… and nothing else. “Sure, Dr. Travis, put your stick here in my mouth for me to roll around under my tongue.”
John C. McGinley can rub my feet, but only in the character of Dr. Perry Cox yelling insults at Eric Dane and Patrick Dempsey as they fetch for me. “That’s the spot, Dr. Cox…“
Similarly, Robert Maschio can fluff my… pillow, but only in the character of The Todd. “No I can’t high-five you, Todd, but you can smack Eric Dane’s ass (hard) when he walks by.“
And since this is my illness-induced fantasy, I get to go old school. Mark Harmon (St. Elsewhere) and Gregory Harrison (Trapper John, M.D.) need to be here for the sponge baths. Their four hands, a warm sponge, and my naked body… “A little lower, Dr. Gregory…“
Finally, I want my favorite doctor of all to actually be in charge of my health care. I’m highly suspicious of doctors and their suspect credentials, so only the best will do. “My runny nose and the rest of my body are in your hands, Doctor…”

Wrestler Bodybuilders

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Usually we see the very enjoyable overlap of bodybuilders and wrestlers with the bodybuilders showing up in the ring. These clips from YouTube go the other direction (the classic wrestlers posing as bodybuilders on stage). Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat, Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka, and Tony Atlas were regular objects of my lust as a kid. Seeing them oiled up and on stage is absolutely stunning.

Ricky’s body was a work of (erotic) art. In this bodybuilding competition, his post-victory embrace of the also rans (including Jimmy Snuka 06:04) is a little tender, though I think the way he clutches the second-placer against his chest is a nice little moment of domination (at 06:10 I can almost here him command, “lick my tit!”). My memories of Ricky are mostly him as a jobber getting used, but he was so sincere and enthusiastic. I always wanted to see him win, but I always thought it was sooooooo hot seeing that musclebod manhandled and defeated!
Jimmy Snuka had to grow on me. He doesn’t have the “pretty” body of a Ricky or a Tony, but he was still so stunningly muscled. My memories of Jimmy were from when he was more of a heel, sort of playing the (racist-stereotype of the) savage islander whose brute force would break his opponents in half.
Tony Atlas, bless his heart (as my mother would say), was a brickhouse with no lights on. I remember the first time I saw him in the ring. I had no idea such a massive bodybuilder (despite the skinny calves) ever found his way into a pro-ring. He was usually jobbing, with his opponents using guile and, well frankly a little intelligence, to overcome Tony’s inevitable physical dominance. Tony’s interviews confirmed the fact that he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lamp. Then he’d walk away, and that gorgeous muscle-butt in those tight, skimpy speedos would remind me that brains aren’t everything!
I don’t know the stories behind these clips, but they totally rock! Showvideos1979 is my hero for the week for this fantastic find.

Of Age

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I know that I’ll probably burn in hell for this (oh, let me count the ways…), but this, one of the first matches of Young David (aka, Davey Boy Smith), is hot. It’s a little bizarre to superimpose the figure of the man that he would eventually become in the WWF, but despite looking like a skinny kid, you can still tell that even “just out of puberty,” Davey had a very nice foundation upon which to build a rock hard body. There was some tipping point in his career at which he went from a body beautiful to a bit of a cartoon character (in my opinion), losing sight of much definition in the interest of bulk. But back at the start of his career, he was wiry, lanky, tall, and very agile. His shoulders and arms have outdistanced his long, skinny legs at this point, but he’s already looking a little more like a hunk than a twink, despite the spindly uprights.
The story line of the match is that Davey had nearly upset classic heel Jim Breaks in a prior match, and he was back to take a title shot at the champ. Jim, in his bumblebee outfit, was ALWAYS the consummate heel, as evidenced by the immediate jeers from the crowd at get-go. This was classic good guy vs. bad guy, handsome young hero vs. “ugly” (yet hot) older villain, strength and bravery vs. guile and deceit. Davey is fast and astonishingly agile, and in his baby blue onesy outfit, he totally turns my crank.
In part 4, there’s a jaw dropping hip toss (04:28) that sends the long, lanky Davey Boy flying entirely across the ring and landing on his arm still in it’s hammerlocked position behind his back (yep, I borrowed that idea for my celebrity wrestling fiction). Holy shit, that looks really dangerous (and is off the charts hot!).

I’m really (really, really) not into underage guys. Without some legitimately mature meat and at least the valid need to shave, they just don’t get my motor running (I’m not just being PC). But Young David here just tips the scale, and I’m left looking over my shoulder a little anxiously every now and then as I watch him, enthralled, entranced, and, truth be told, aroused.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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The 1984 Olympic U.S. Men’s Gymnastics Team turned me gay.
It was the first summer Olympics to happen after I hit adolescence. I don’t remember having seen men’s gymnastics on television before. But when I caught sight of the short, powerhouse, muscle-bound tumblers in Los Angeles, there could be no doubt: I was gay, and this was hot!

The drama of the Olympics was part and parcel of the whole eroticism for me. These guys weren’t expected to win the team competition. It was down to the wire, every landing crucial, every hop critical, and the Chinese and Japanese tumblers were scooping up every medal in sight. And then the underdog-dreamboats from the U.S. win, and all of these gorgeous studs with massive biceps and thick chests and tiny little waists were hugging and jumping all over each other in ecstasy… ecstasy, I tell you!

At the time, I was smitten with Peter Vidmar. These days, I wouldn’t peg him for the stud puppy in the bunch, but you can’t argue with the raging hormones of an adolescent gay boy. Peter was dreamy, and I was in love.
Mitch Gaylord was clearly the one pegged by everyone else as the looker in the group. He had those big shoulders and that (relatively) long, sexy body. He took a stab at a movie, which as I remember was unmemorable.
In hindsight, Bart Conner should’ve been my gay crush. Even then, I remember being awed by thickness of his biceps. There was something totally hot about hearing the story of his completely torn bicep from training. The scars across his massive arms and shoulders were just fascinating (in a why-are-my-pants-suddenly-tight way). The California surferboy blond hair and and the little boy grin on that brickhouse bod was completely worshipful. I should so much have been into him more than Vidmar.
Frankly, I think Tim Daggett may have had the best bod in the bunch, but I didn’t think he was so handsome. I still see him commenting on men’s gymnastics competitions when I tune in for my short-muscle-stud fix, particularly around the summer Olympics.
And then, there were “the rest,” in the words of the theme song to Gilligan’s Island. Jim Hartung and Scott Johnson are totally the Professor and Mary Ann. I remember them both by sight, and I remember thinking, “Hey, those guys are hot, too!” But they weren’t the superstars, and they didn’t get as much exposure.

I fell in love all over again when (Sexy) Alexei Nemov was such a media darling in the 1996 and 2000 Olympics (and the way he always kissed his teammates after each routine). Still today, I pause and drink in the gorgeousness whenever men’s gymnastics pops up on television. But it’s the 1984 Olympic U.S. Men’s Gymnastic team that first made me fall in love and lust with the sport that proves short is sexy.

An Instant Classic

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This is my 100th post! On this auspicious occasion, I thought long and hard about how to celebrate this milestone. I decided to return once again to one of my favorite topics: the wonder that is Mitch Colby.

Mitch appeared on the scene at BG East only about 3 years ago, but it feels like I’ve been adoring him for much longer than that. He’s listed at 6’2″ and 206 pounds, and his bodybuilding site suggests that he perfected that fine form fairly recently, reminding us all that it’s never too late to get fit. I think what first caught my attention about Mitch was, in part, his age. He’s certainly not ready to collect social security, but he’s also not quite one of the countless just-finished-puberty boys that fill the ranks of the homoerotic wrestling genre. I love those captured moments when Mitch’s younger opponents (like Alexi, here) are clearly checking out his stunning body, despite themselves.
As I’ve mentioned, another fantastically attractive quality to Mitch is the speed with which he becomes completely soaked in sweat. He’s working hard against his opponents (and for us), and it shows.
Mitch suffers nicely. He sells his character as the bodybeautiful narcissist whose cockiness sometimes gets him in over his head. At 6’2″, Mitch shows some great ability (and readiness) to be twisted and lifted and thrown. His dismantling by the much smaller hardbody badboy Cole Cassidy is that much more stunning for the size differential.
Mitch continues to evolve in his salesmanship in dishing out punishment. He gave nearly as well as he took against Cole. This scene of Cole suffering in Mitch’s prolonged bearhug is an awesome display of Mitch’s beautifully muscled back and Cole displays the exact same face I make often when I’m thinking about Mitch!
His most recent bit with Derek da Silva showed Mitch exploring a new range that is very, very promising. I’m hoping someone will please smack him (hard) when the loses his concentration and looks into the camera, as he often does (Brad Rochelle needs to give Mitch “a lesson” in this, among other things). But it is a thing of beauty to see Mitch trap his opponent’s head between his legs, face to crotch, and squeeze those muscled thighs. Mitch seems genuinely transported into an ecstatic reverie in those moments, entirely present, and him getting turned on is a very hot turn on to watch.
Mitch seems to be venturing more into hardcore, and frankly I’ll only follow him so far down that path. But whenever he signs up for another wrestling match, particularly one which devolves from competitive passion to erotic passion, I’m there.

Boys with Balls

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I’ve received a few requests from readers of my celebrity wrestling fiction to add sports stars into the matches. While it’s true I don’t particularly follow most sports, I’m not as sports-illiterate as some gay men I know (though “icing” in hockey still bewilders me). I even enjoy taking in some of the action, particularly when it’s live (going to the ballpark is awesome… watching on TV is not). Still, I’ve had to do some research to find who in sports today needs to be body slammed, and who in sports needs to do the slamming.

I found that Towleroad has a very, very nice running feature called “Sportraits” that displays some of the prime beef in sports entertainment. If not for this search for talent to write up in the wrestling ring, I’d NEVER have discovered the fantastic torso of NASCAR driver Carl Edwards. I believe I detect a little airbrushing, but Carl’s beautiful body is still just aching to get tortured in a camel clutch, don’t you think?
And then there’s rugby boy Ben Cohen. The fact that Ben apparently has body issues is endearing – completely ridiculous and a tragic indictment of society, but endearing . In my mind, Ben’s prime for pile driving some cocky muscle-head hardbody in the middle of the ring.
And though he’s retired now, a reader put me on to the beauty that is soccer/footballer Hidetoshi Nakata. I’ve got a whole slate of soccer boys just aching to mix it up in the Producer’s Ring (Freddie Ljungberg and David Beckham have already posted a match). I’m already picturing Hidetoshi and some great, crippling arial work.
Finally, I am summoning a supreme act of self restraint not to make lewd comments about the stunning beauty of Brendon Ayanbadejo.
My self-restraint is in honor of the Baltimore Ravens football player’s outspoken support of human rights protections for the gays. I’ll keep him out of the fictional wrestling ring so that he’ll have more time to wax philosophical about the role of religion and human rights in a capitalist democracy. A man with fantastic lips, gorgeous body, classy ink, and he’s both politically reflective and articulate!? … restraining myself…. restraining myself….
I probably won’t start following many more sports any more closely. But I can’t wait to get some of these sports studs introduced to my homoerotic wrestling fetishist imagination.

Making Amends

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I’m a hypocrite. I’ll be the first to admit it. I’ll pick on someone else for not attributing their borrowed pics, but then I’ll turn around and do that very thing. Last Saturday I posted my latest installment in the history of “what turned me gay.” Sadly, I don’t actually have many pics or videos of the “male exotic dancers” so prevalent on 80’s daytime talk shows that I was highlighting. In referencing one particularly memorable episode of Donahue (where he has hot hunks in speedos flexing their glutes to win a best butt contest – and pow! I’m gay), I threw up an otherwise unrelated pic of a man (let’s just say “a god”) with astounding buns. And there I went and didn’t credit the jaw dropping hunk.

Not that Trevor Adams probably needs citing. He’s awfully exposed all over the net (hallelujah!). That ass is astonishingly round, and it’s perky enough to put me back on obsessing about butts again! Dear God, is he smuggling watermelons!?
He’s in magazines and fitness videos and, well, at 6 feet tall and 210 pounds, it’s hard to avoid giving him a double take when you come across an image of him. His ADORABLE story in the August issue of Instinct, in which he discusses his coming out, is about as sweet as sweet potato pie. Almost all the photos I find of Trevor have him flashing his Blue Steel, but the occasional glimpse of a smile on that handsome face, mounted on that dizzyingly gorgeous bod is sheer poetry .
I have no idea what this Christmas video is about. I’m sure it’s sacrilegious, probably juvenile, and likely pointlessly insulting… and I can’t help but continue to watch it over and over again. How does he get his pecs so shiny? I mean, specifically, I’d like to know the details of how his pecs get so shiny… and how I can work into that process somehow.
His personal website is just a splash page, sadly. Mostbeautifulman.com gives us the tantalizing tidbit that Trevor is into watersports (not my thing, but for Trevor… sure). And Modelmayhem.com lets us know that Trevor is “very experienced” (which isn’t as funny as saying he’s into watersports, but still it’s a workable double entendre). In any case, I am flogging myself (I said FLOGGING!) for my sloppy, insensitive, and thoughtless lack of giving credit where credit is due. That glorious, nearly unbelievably, divinely beautiful ass belongs to none other than Trevor Adams.